Chapter Four: The Prince and the Hybrid
The grand hall of Silverkeep Castle was aglow with firelight.
Ancient chandeliers flickered with golden flames that reflected against the polished obsidian floors. Dark tapestries woven with silver thread displayed the de Von Silver crest—an ancient wolf silhouetted under twin moons. The air buzzed with curiosity, tension, and something far sharper.
Esterphania stepped beside King Lucien, every eye on her as they entered the welcome hall. Rows of courtiers lined the sides—nobles, generals, scholars, advisors. Some whispered. Some bowed. Others simply stared. She held her chin high.
Let them look.
Let them choke on it.
But then, just as Lucien opened his mouth to speak—to declare her name, her title, her status as his adopted heir—a low voice pierced the air from the grand stairwell above.
"I hoped it was a dirty joke, Father."
Every neck turned toward the voice.
A young man descended the stairs with practiced grace, dressed in fitted black with a royal blue sash draped across his chest. His hair was raven-black, falling slightly over one eye, and his gaze… his gaze was silver. Not the faded kind—bright, molten, almost blinding under the firelight. A mirror of the king himself.
Sharp jaw. Piercing eyes. A smile that didn't reach the soul.
"I really hoped it was a joke," the man said, stopping midway down the staircase. "But no… You've brought a hybrid into our castle. Not just any hybrid, but one made of demons and vampires. Tell me, Father—are we not sworn enemies of her kind?"
A hush fell across the room like a thick fog.
Some gasped.
Others glanced at Esterphania, then quickly away.
The king didn't turn to look at his son. He simply inhaled.
"Alexander," he said calmly. "Not here."
But Alexander de Von Silver—the First Prince of the Lycan Kingdom, heir to the Silver Throne, and a man of four hundred years—stepped down another stair. "No, let's speak of it now. Let's all bear witness to your betrayal of our ancestors. Shall we tell them how the demons slaughtered the last angels? Or how vampires feasted on the blood of humans under our watch?"
"Enough," Lucien snapped, the steel in his voice silencing the entire hall.
"Take this conversation inside."
Alexander's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to Esterphania—cold, calculating, angry.
And then he turned and stormed down the side hallway.
The king let out a tired breath, looked to Esterphania, and offered a softer gaze.
"Dinner will be in an hour. Have the maids show you to your chambers, clean up, rest. We'll talk more later."
Esterphania said nothing. She simply followed the young maid assigned to her, her fists clenched at her sides.
She'd just met the prince. And he already hated her.
Perfect.
---
The room they gave her was ridiculous.
Tall ceilings, arched windows, black silk drapes, a bed carved from obsidian and layered with fur. A fireplace roared on one end, casting her red hair in a blaze of its own.
She washed. Changed.
And by the time she descended the stairs for dinner, she was no longer the bloody girl from a burned house.
She was a threat.
A legend in bloom.
And apparently, an inconvenience to the prince.
She entered the private dining hall slowly. It was smaller than the ballroom, more intimate. Only three others sat at the long table.
At the head—King Lucien, regal and silent.
To his left—Prince Alexander, lounging back with a glass of wine, still in dark clothes, his silver eyes unreadable.
And beside him, a woman.
Soft brown skin. Dark golden eyes. Voluminous curls pinned into a graceful knot. She had a warm smile and held Alexander's hand gently under the table.
Esterphania paused.
Lucien stood at once. "You look radiant, Esterphania."
She nodded slightly in thanks.
But Alexander—of course—interjected.
"Well, of course she does. She's got good genes. Demons and vampires are known for their beauty, after all."
Lucien's eyes flared. "Alexander—"
"I'm just admiring the craftsmanship, Father. No offense, Hybrid." He said the word like venom, as if her mere presence tainted the air.
"Enough!" Lucien snapped. "Sit down, Esterphania."
She did, across from the prince and the woman.
The woman smiled kindly. "I'm Melody. It's nice to meet you."
Esterphania studied her. "Likewise."
Melody had a gentleness to her. A warmth Esterphania wasn't used to. She corrected Alexander every time he spoke sharply, subtly nudging him under the table or adding, "That's not fair, Alex."
But then, as Melody reached for her cup, her sleeve slid up slightly—just enough to reveal a glint of silver.
A ring.
Lucien noticed first.
His brow furrowed. "Melody," he said quietly, "what is that on your finger?"
Melody blinked, then flushed. "Oh. Um… Alexander proposed. Two nights ago."
Silence fell.
Lucien set down his fork slowly.
"Alexander. A word."
---
The private chamber was smaller, colder.
Lucien stood near the window, arms behind his back.
Alexander entered with folded arms. "If this is about Melody—"
"It is. She is a good girl. But you are not marrying her."
Alexander's jaw clenched. "Father—"
"You are not marrying her," Lucien said again, voice steel.
"We've been together for over two hundred years!"
"But she is not your erasthai."
"I don't have an erasthai!" Alexander exploded. "If I did, she would've shown up when I was 18—or at least 100! I'm 400, Father! Four hundred! Where is she?"
"She'll come."
"And if she doesn't?! If I marry Melody and then my erasthai shows up, I'll reject her."
Lucien turned around fully now, golden eyes blazing.
"You cannot reject your erasthai, Alexander. Not if you're Lycan royalty. The bond is too strong. Your blood will burn for her. Do you understand?"
"I love Melody."
"You're naïve."
"I'm older than you were when you took the throne—"
"And you're acting like a child!"
A heavy silence stretched.
Lucien's voice lowered, cold. "I am against this marriage, Alexander. And I don't care what you have to say."
He left without another word.
---
Later that night, Alexander sat in Melody's chambers, fingers tangled in hers.
"He's still against us," he said softly. "But we'll make it happen, somehow."
Melody brushed her thumb across his hand. "Don't rebel. Not yet. Just give it time. He's a king. And a father. He's just afraid."
Alexander closed his eyes.
"I've waited centuries," he whispered.
Melody kissed his knuckles.
"I'll wait too."
But far above them, in a tower room lit by moonlight, Esterphania stood on her balcony, arms crossed.
She could still feel his glare from dinner.
Alexander de Von Silver hated her.
And that was fine.
Because she didn't like him either.
Yet, somewhere—buried in the pit of her stomach—was a strange, unwelcome flutter.
Not attraction.
Something deeper.
A warning.